


The Artist and The Thief

by WillGrammer



Category: Papillon (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Anxiety, Blackmail, Breaking and Entering, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Friends to Enemies, Henri is a thief, Illegal Activities, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Teasing, Theft, Work In Progress, louis is an artist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2019-09-15 19:10:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16939053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillGrammer/pseuds/WillGrammer
Summary: Based on Tumblr artist reeacat's art of Louis and Henri in a modern setting, according to polixena's idea, with a little bit of plot on my side.





	1. The Beginning

“Yes, Joseph, I understand your concern about my health and I tell you again, I don't sit in front of the canvas for hours a time,” Louis held his phone as he walked down the street, speaking to his older brother while making his way to his apartment.

  
“You told me your gallery is failing,” Joseph chuckled from his end of the line, his phone on speaker while he washed the dishes in the sink.  
  
“I'm just making sure you're not working yourself half to death, that's all. You're talented, bro, people will buy your art. It just takes time, that's all.”  
  
Louis sighed as he unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside, closing it behind himself and swinging the key to lock it.  
  
The sound of the water running from Joseph's end filling his ears before the stream was turned off.

"That's the point, Joseph. If I don't make anything new, no one will step inside. I have to constantly push myself to my very limits,” Louis sighed again, removing his coat and remaining in his sweater.  
  
He held his phone in his left hand now when throwing his coat over his couch, and walking down the hall to his working space, hearing as his brother hummed to his rather poor explanation to why he had to work so hard.  
  
But then again Joseph never really understood the difficulties of being an artist. He was in the police force, a detective. Already had his entire future set up for him with Annie.  
  
He thought that since technology advanced, creatures had a much easier time sharing their work to the rest of the world.  
  
And he was right. For the most part, anyway.  
  
“I have to… To _create_ , man. To make something extraordinary that will make people open their eyes,” the artist explained once more, sitting over his chair.  
  
He leaned back to stretch his back as he gazed a plain canvas, then removed his glasses from his nose so he could rub his eyes.  
  
“Yes, sweetie, we know that,” he heard his sister in law speaking now, smiling a small smile to the sound of her voice. “But it's not your fault that your recent work is not speaking to the people,” Annie eyed Joseph as she spoke, smiling sadly at her husband before she continued to speak with Louis.  
  
“And you centrally don't have to work day and night just to gain the people's attention. Failing is a part of life, Louis, and I'm not saying that you are, I'm only saying that there will be people who will find your work extraordinary, and inspiring. Just like your brother and I do.”  
  
Louis smiled and nodded his head, putting his glasses back on and fixing them against his nose, feeling at peace, tension from his shoulders fading away to those words of reassurance.  
  
“We got your back, Lou. Always,” Joseph spoke into the phone, cupping the side of Annie's cheek, smiling at her as he ran her delicate fingers through his hair.  
  
“I know. I love you guys, thank you,” Louis stood to look outside his balcony over the city, breathing the air, not minding the cold as the sun was about to set, and darkness fell over the city. Lamps shining here and there, casting light over alleys and streets.  
  
It might rain tonight.  
  
“Join us for dinner this Friday, what do you say? We missed you,” he heard Joseph chuckle, nodding his head before he leaned his head against the fist of his right hand.  
  
  
“I'll be there.”  
  
  
-  
  
  
Henri held his breath as he climbed over a fence, cutting his knee through jeans as he did, and biting his lip when he swallowed a groan and fell to the ground.  
  
His left knee bleeding, though the cut didn't feel too deep when he touched it with his fingernails.  
  
He stood, slowly, and tightened his bag around his shoulder, only than exhaling when the sound of the police sirens was no longer heard and they've lost him.  
  
“Fuckin’ idiots,” he chuckled and walked, or rather, limped, his way out of the alley, bleeding into to his jeans.  
  
He could handle the pain. He dealt with worse when fleeing from the cops before so He wasn't worried about the cut.  
  
What he was worried about, though, was where he was going to crush tonight, since Julot was the main suspect in an ongoing investigation. He had to keep his distance from his partner in crime, and best friend.  
  
And he couldn't go back to his apartment, either. The c probably searched for him there.  They could be waiting for him and he couldn't take that chance.  
  
So he ran off around the city, and he ended up here. The dim light of the lamp on his right side lightening the building, and the blond rubbed his eyes and picked a rock from the ground as he made his way closer towards a window.  
  
The building seemed to be old, in a rather deserted part of the city. The pavement was filthy and there wasn't much to find here. Not a lot of apartment buildings in this area, either.  
  
The sound of a thunder made Henri look upwards to the dark clouds that filled the sky, and he clicked his tongue when listening to the almost nonexistent traffic.  
  
He looked back to where he came from before turning his head and walking around the building, tightening his hold over the rock in the fist of his left hand.  
  
Another thunder was heard, and Henri smirked.  
  
He threw the rock against the window and turned, covering his ears to the sound of the smash before feeling drops falling over his head, and smiled at that, turning to the window and limping his way to it as the rain began pouring quicker.  
  
He cleaned the window's edges with the sleeve of his coat, tearing the fabric in the process.  
  
He didn't give a shit. He could always steal a new one some other day. Right now all he cared about was his new shelter from the rain.  
  
Thanks to the loud thunder that masked the sound of the smashing window, most odds were that he would be safe from the cops here for the night.  
  
So he went inside, slowly, letting his backpack slide off his shoulder before he went through it for his flashlight.  
  
He found it, and clicked it, closing his eyes at the brightness before grabbing his backpack after he opened his eyes, limped down the hall, and noticed paintings hanging on the walls.  
  
Mostly of were of views, with vibrant colors, ones that grabbed his attention and he found himself sitting on the ground at some point, looking up at the different paintings like a child.  
  
There was a canvas to his left that was drawn from what seemed to be a small balcony with a good view of the city. It took Henri's breath away.  
  
The sky was colored in dark blue and the only light that was shown was from the lamps scattered around the nearby streets and alleys.  
  
As he tore a part of his shirt to wrap around his bleeding knee, he placed his flashlight between his teeth and looked down as he tied the piece of fabric tightly against the cut with a groan.  
  
He held the flashlight back in his left hand and stood, carefully, stretching his leg and walking a bit better now. Though he was ought to get some bandages from the free clinic on the other side of the city.  
  
He could worry about that tomorrow.  
  
Moving his hand downwards when he noticed an autograph, carved into the canvas, in deep green, right below the dark bars of the balcony, Charrière hummed.  
  
“Louis,” he read out the cursive, tilting his head before he took the canvas carefully off the wall.  
  
He liked it. He wanted to have it for himself, so he took it. Though he was sorry for the guy, to have his gallery in this wreck of a building in this part of the city.  
  
He seemed to be very talented. Perhaps it was time for him to experience a loss, with the news of one of his paintings being stolen.  
  
Henri laughed at that as he took the canvas with him, keeping it clean from his prints since he was wearing thick gloves, and moved to lay in the main hall.  
  
He leaned the painting against the wall and kicked his bag to the side, slowly laying himself down, and pressing his head against it, taking out his gun from the rear of his pants, holding it in his right hand, not loading it.  
  
  
The floor was cold and he sighed, blinking before he shone the light over his new painting and smiled lazily, his words teasing when he breathed them out.  
  
“Good night, Louis,” he snickered and grinned to himself, laying over his side, facing the painting before he clicked his flashlight and darkness fell.  
  
He kept his gun close throughout the night, still unloaded in his palm as he slept.  
  
  
When morning came Henri hurried to get out of there with the painting in hand, the streets cold as he made his way towards his shitty apartment downtown with his treasure in hand.  
  
He locked the door behind himself and threw his bag down near his foot, heading to his bedroom with the canvas.  
  
He decided to hang it in front of his bed since he liked looking at it and picturing himself looking outside to this view.  
  
That Louis must be rich, enjoying such a nice balcony while for a guy like himself it was hard enough getting this shitty one bedroom apartment.  
  
Stealing other people's shit and selling it to strangers wasn't as easy as it sounded to outsiders.  
  
Especially when his best friend was facing jail time for doing the only thing people like them did right.  
  
  
-  
  
Louis woke up to the sound of knocking against his door, and the news of his gallery being broken into sometime at night.  
  
He could feel his heart sinking to his guts when the policemen went on to tell him one of his paintings was missing.  
  
He thanked him for dropping by and asked him to contact him about any possible leads, and watched the man leave.  
  
Closing the door behind him, Dega then fisted his hands and leaned against the wall, sliding down to the floor, his knees pressed to his chest as he closed his eyes, tears falling down his cheeks.  
  
He wanted attention, but not like this.


	2. What Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Henri spends his morning in the free clinic, Louis makes an important decision about his involvement in the investigation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer than the first one! Enjoy, and please kudos and comment down to let me know what you think!

Louis rubbed his eyes as he walked in circles across his kitchen, a mug of coffee he made for himself placed over the table, growing cold.

“Would you please sit down, Louis?” Joseph asked him, his voice soft, concerned, his grey eyes following his brother's movements before he stood from his chair and pressed his arm against his shoulder.

Louis blinked his eyes and sniffed before turning his head to look at him, disoriented by the circumstances that brought his brother to his apartment as a part of his job.

“I'm more comfortable standing,” he told him and crossed his arms to his chest to ground himself when he watched Joseph nodding his head, accepting his answer.

“Okay,” Joseph picked up his cold coffee mug and drained it in the sink, washing it and placing it away on the counter before sitting down again, the palms of his hands resting over his knees.

“We don't have any leads yet,” he began saying, “ No one heard or saw anything since the building is relatively far from any bus stations and apartment buildings,” he explained.

“We think that the perp was hurt and searched for a shelter there,” Joseph continued and watched the way Louis nodded to his words.

“There's a tire on top of a fence in the alley near the building. Do you think they were climbing on it to get to the other side or were they hurt before that?” he raised his eyebrow as Joseph smiled to his question.

“We found traces of cotton at the top of the wire. Thing is, they could have walked all the way around to avoid the alley, but they came from the side.” Joseph fell quiet after that, standing and walking closer to his brother, looking into his eyes.

“Why would anyone climb on a fence and take a risk getting injured when they could have walked a few more steps in another direction instead?”

Louis scoffed. “It doesn't make any sense. And who would break into a building just to get a shelter from the rain? Why would they wander around the city in the middle of the night and find themselves there, anyway?”

Louis sat down, his hands holding his head before he ran his fingers through his hair, sighing deeply while gazing Joseph.

“They have nothing to find there.”

Joseph's expression softened, his shoulders dropping to Louis’ words, and he sat across from him, shaking his head.

“You can't put yourself down like that, Louis. Just because things are not going very well right now, it doesn't mean your work is irrelevant.”

Joseph's words had no impact on Louis, who tore his gaze away and blinked his eyes when staring over his mug on the counter.

“I think that the perp was running from somebody. Chances are, that whoever they are, they have a record. And that they've broken into places before. They liked your painting and took it,” Joseph tightened his coat around himself and stood up.

Louis stayed quiet at that, turning his head to gaze at his brother.

“I want to see the crime scene. The rookie that came to notify me earlier said that they broke a window,” he stood and went to his living room for his coat, grabbing it from the couch and wearing it quickly, running a hand through his hair.

“Yes, and we found a piece of fabric there too, among the shattered glass. Doesn't help in finding leads, though, Louis.”

He sounded apologetic and Louis shook his head at that, pulling him into a tight hug. “You'll find whoever did it. I can always draw another painting.”

Joseph sighed held him in place, closing his eyes. “Yeah, but I don't want you to.”

Louis smiled and pulled away from their hug, opening the door for them both to leave.

“Catch the bastard, then.”

  
-

  
Henri stretched his arms when stepping out of the shower, stream covering his bathroom mirror over his sink as he walked past it and wiped it off with his large palm.

He took a moment to watch his reflection, his hair dripping to the floor while he curled his toes and then released them, hearing a few clicks while he wrapped a towel around his waist.

“I look like a hobo,” he mumbled to himself and frowned, touching his beard and deciding to trim it a bit. Make it thinner, tidier. Since he quite enjoyed the length of his hair.

So he did. Bringing a razor to his jawline after covering his skin with shaving cream, shaving off tiny beats of hair from the sides of his face, and above his lips, leaving a chunk over his jawline instead.

It took him 45 minutes until he was satisfied with the outcome, and washed the cream off his face before he brushed his teeth and walked out of there.

As he was drying his hair he eyed the canvas in front of his bed, brushing his golden strands and blinking his eyes for a moment when the painted lights there blinded him.

Maybe he was staring at for too long.

He sighed when he switched his hairdryer off and threw his brush back it into the drawer of his nightstand, and then combed his hair, pulling his wrist up before tying it with a red rubber band.

He threw a white shirt over himself before he wore a pair of dark briefs and looked down over his knee. The cut seemed to be smaller now. A bit dry. He still had to go to the free clinic, though.

He wore a light blue pair of jeans and clicked a dark belt around it, then walked around his bedroom before he found his boots in the corner and wore them with a groan.

“Bye, Louis,” the thief snickered and tapped the painting with his fingertips, licking his dry lips before turning to leave his room, grabbing a grey jacket that smelled okay from his couch and left.

He locked the door behind himself and wrapped the key around his neck, feeling the metal pressing against the butterfly tattoo in the center of his chest.  
  
It didn't look like the police had sent anyone to retrieve him to the station. He lost them last night after breaking into that deserted, sad gallery, and wondered to himself if anyone cared.

If Louis cared.

As he walked down the street and crossed a few roads when making his way to the free clinic, he thought about the guy.

His reaction to the police informing him someone had broken into his gallery at night and stole his painting.

Would he cry about it, or just paint a new drawing and carry on with his life.

What was he like?

Henri tightened the rubber band around his hair a little when he saw the small building near the abandoned church, that now was a meeting place for crackheads and alcoholics.

Sad, what happened to that place.

He chuckled to himself and watched the way the painted glass shone when the sun reflected against it, and tilted his head to the warm colors that now shone brightly in daylight from there.

Shaking his head he turned away and rubbed his eyes, sniffing quietly as he stepped inside the clinic and greeted the clerk.

“Annie, how are you?” He grinned at the woman who welcomed him with a sweet grin. She was glowing. Not once or twice he thanked her for volunteering here for the past couple of years.

She held this place together.

“I'm doing fine, Henri. You still haven't told me where you got those bruises on your chest,” she watched him, worried, like a mother.

“The important thing is that they've healed already. This time I cut my knee a bit,” he shrugged and took a number from the machine, finding a seat further down the hall.

He sat down and watched her shaking her head before she went back to filling some paperwork in her booth.

She was very beautiful. Having light, brown hair that weaved down as it touched her shoulders, tanned skin which she most likely got from spending many times at the beach.

Henri couldn't help but feel like she reminded him of someone. But he didn't dwell on that, not with the wedding ring on her finger.

There was no way someone like her would accept him into her life. But he realized that years back. Though it still stang, though it didn't bother him since he handled much worse than a simple knee scratch.

“Henri,” the blond then looked up to the sound of Doctor Levy. He was a tall man with dark hair and hazel eyes. He treated him for his injuries many times before.

“Hey, doc,” he stood and gave him a smile, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, leaving just his thumbs outside.

“First time I saw you in weeks, must be urgent,” the man led him inside his room and closed the door behind himself, as Charrière sat over the high bed.

“It's just a knee scratch, actually. It bled a bit and I tied it with a piece of my shirt. Didn't have any bandages, y'know,” he clicked his tongue and tilted his head at the man, who nodded at him.

“Better to be safe than sorry,” he told him and watched Henri told the layers of his left leg, up to his knee, revealing a small, not very deep, dry scratch.

The doctor hummed and moved away to wash his hands before he took out from his drawer a small bottle of antibiotics gel and poured a few drops against a cotton ball.

He pressured it against the blond's knee as his free hand then placed a band-aid over it, covering it.

“Ah, thanks,” Henri nodded his head and unfolded his jeans, his legs touching the floor before he stood slowly, stretching his knee as the burn from the antibiotic stang a bit.

“You already got a tetanus shot here last year so you won't be needing another one,” the doctor placed his equipment away and moved to open the door.

“I take it that your bruises healed well since last time,” the man said and gave him a smile that wasn't exactly warm but wasn't wary either.

He just kept his distance from him. Like he knew something and kept it to himself.

And he was smarter for that.

“They did, thanks. I'll see you,” he chuckled and left, passing by Annie again before he stepped outside the building and made his way towards a street market a few blocks away.

A golden opportunity for thieves such as himself to make a buck off some tourists. But he wasn't going to sell anything, he just needed to pay some old friend a visit.

  
-

  
Louis swallowed a gulp down his throat as he walked around the building, his eyes never leaving the broken window that was now cleaned and replaced.

Things moved quickly if people had money in their pockets. And it wasn't like that leaving the window broken would have helped Joseph and his investigation.

He fixed his glasses against his nose and walked inside, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the large space as he made his way towards the main hall.

Joseph turned his head to him, standing in front of where his stolen painting was the night before. He looked very sad.

Louis made his way towards him and tapped his shoulder, rubbing it with the palm of his right hand.

“Do you think they sold it?”

Joseph watched Louis and sighed, looking at the wall again a moment later. “I've got no idea.”

Louis thought for a moment before spoke again.

“What if I'll make another painting,” the artist began saying. “Do you think it'll draw them out?”

Joseph chuckled and closed his eyes, shrugging.

“You're mad if you think I'll let you be in the same room with a criminal, but yes, there's a possibility that whoever broke in will come here again.”

“Then it's good enough for me. I'll make another painting,” Dega turned and began walking away from his brother, who followed him.

“And if they steal this one as well?” he offered, raising his brow when his brother met his gaze, his grey eyes a bit brighter behind the lances of his glasses once they stepped outside.

Almost blue.

“I'll shove my brushes down their throat and thank them for their time.”

Joseph laughed at that, wiping tears from his eyes once they sat inside his car.

“Now, that's something I'd like to see, Lou.”

He started the ignition and Louis could only smile a little at his reaction before he looked outside the window, his eyes watching his building as it eventually went out of sight, and he wondered to himself;

What should he draw in order to attract that person's attention?


	3. Ricochet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis is inspired by a vision he sees, all the while Henri meets up with Cellier at the harbor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do notice that this chapter has a rather graphic description of violence, so read with caution.
> 
> Trigger warning: Cigarette burns, manhandling.

Louis let out a strained breath as he tugged on the strands of his hair in frustration, the canvas in front of him still empty, representing his mind and his nonexistent muse. 

 

Some of his sketchbook's pages were torn, covering the floor in his failed attempts to create a view as clear and as compelling like the one on his stolen painting. 

 

The notebook itself he kept out of sight after seeing it become so thin. He didn't have another one laying around and he wasn't feeling like going to the store to get another, not when he had work to do. 

 

He couldn't disappoint Joseph after taking upon himself to pull the thief from their hiding, and his only way to truly do that was to paint something that would attract their attention and bring them to steal from him again. 

 

He just had to think. And fast, but the static in his head overwhelmed him, and often silence could be defeating. 

 

And so Dega found himself lying on some of his used pages, removing his glasses from his nose as he did, placing them aside while he listened to what had been his favorite song for years now. 

 

His hands returned to his messy short hair, and he fisted it, his stomach turning at that.

 

He began singing along to the song, his phone in his lap. 

 

“We were one and the same, running like moths to the flame,” he sighed, slowly feeling intoxicated when something other than his own voice filled his ears. 

 

“You'd hang on every word I'd say,” he swallowed, his grip on his hair weakening, and he gently began pressing his scalp with his delicate fingers, calming himself. 

 

“But now they only ricochet,” he exhaled deeply and opened his eyes, furrowing them when meeting the blurred image of his ceiling. 

 

He never had any friends he could compare to the song. He had many colleagues over the years, but not a particular one he thought about when listening to the song. 

 

“You were falling away, you left me with a bittersweet taste,” Louis then continued to sing, swallowing a gulp down his throat as his heartbeat slowed down, and he curled his toes through his striped socks, hearing them click. 

 

It was a sad song, and yet it calmed him down even when he had no friend to attach it with. No lover either, definitely not. 

 

It made him feel somewhat empty as if he once knew somebody who he was very attached to, but his logic and memories proved him time after time that there was, actually, no one like that at all. 

 

Not in his life, anyway, so he blamed his daydreams and imagination, accusing himself in his attempts to connect to a song he had no emotional connection to. 

 

Even so, he sang it to himself, and maybe that was enough. Maybe he didn't need anyone to sing it to. A face to see in his mind whenever his chest ached in search of a person that was only a fiction of his imagination. 

 

Louis slowly moved upwards, so close to his canvas that his nose touched it, and he moved his hands down to his glasses, fixing them against his nose before he blinked and sang the rest of the verse. 

 

“But when I send my heart your way, it bounces off the walls you made,” his hands then found his brushes across the floor, and he carefully stood and dipped them in his glass of water on his stool. 

  
  


He could draw… himself, at least.

 

Many artists had included themselves in their works. Maybe it was time for him to try it out. 

 

He could see strong sunlight all of the sudden, when he closed his eyes,, revealing him a view he had never seen before, or at least was unsure of the source of the image of it filling his mind. 

 

He saw a cabin standing in the sand by the ocean for a very short moment, the dawn coloring the water underneath it in golden colors while the clouds shone from above.

 

It took his breath away as if he was there before.

 

He could feel the warm sunlight against his chest, warming him, embracing him, as if he were truly there and not in his apartment. It was so… bizarre.

 

The wind blew against his back and the longer Dega watched the breathtaking view, the more he felt he wasn't on his own. 

 

So he turned his head to the left, hard enough to make himself trip into the floor with a grunt, remembering who he was, and where he was. 

 

He sighed at that, rubbing his aching cheek before he made an effort to stand again, grunting and removing the broken lances of his glasses as he opened his eyes and walked towards his trash bin to throw the pair in it. 

 

Frowning, Louis wore his contacts a moment later in his bathroom, looking at his reflection through the mirror. 

 

They didn't fit him, and yet he didn't really care. Since he had work to do. 

  
  


He swapped the shattered glass from the floor carefully, listening to the song once more and trying to keep the image of the beach and the cabin in his head.

 

When he stood in front of his canvas again he could see himself there, sitting by the cabin's entrance, watching the waves in some sort of calmness that was foreign to him. 

 

He looked down to his striped socks and took one off, holding it in the fist of his left hand. 

 

Red and white. The colors were nearly fading over the fabric since he wore them for hours a time, always buying new pairs in the same colors. 

 

“Why?” he asked himself and arched his back, touching his canvas with the edge of his right thumb. 

 

A shiver went down his spine before he stepped away and shook his head, preparing himself to work, finally. 

  
  


-

  
  


Henri pushed his hands to the pockets of his jeans as he made his way to Cellier's regular spot by the harbor, watching the old man cleaning his boat from afar. 

 

He clicked his tongue and made his way towards him, arching his back and waiting for him to turn his head. 

 

He did and nearly fell into his boat with the soaked sponge in his right hand before he laughed and shook his head. 

 

“Jesus Christ, Papi, you should stop sneaking around like that.”

 

The blond grinned and licked his lips, raising his brows. “Your boat's gonna get you killed one day, you know,” he sniffed and looked around to the man's collection. 

 

“Keep cleaning them day and night and you might as well miss on anyone's that's coming for you.”

 

Cellier hummed and sat back against the edge of one of his smaller boat, as he gazed Henri with caution. 

 

“I suppose you're not here to lecture me about paying attention to my surroundings, no?” 

 

He then threw his sponge into a bucket of water near his leg and reached into his pocket for his pack of smokes, putting one in his mouth as he handed the blond another for himself. 

 

Lighting them up and taking a drag, Henri was the first to exhale before he spoke. 

 

“I'm here because you owe Julot an explanation,” he told the old man, watching as their smoke faded away with the wind. 

 

“You were supposed to pick him up, you were three blocks away and you bailed on him, and now he's facing five years.” 

 

The anger in his voice was clear as day. Teamwork was essential in matters like these; and if thieves such as themselves wanted to make any money - real money, they had to play ball with one another. 

 

They couldn't do that with unreliable scum. 

 

Cellier sighed deeply and rubbed his knee as he kept his silence, which dragged a low growl from the blond, making him step closer to him, looking down at him with cold, bright blue eyes. 

 

“I couldn't risk being caught, Papi, you know that. It's practically your fault for giving me those Rolex watches-” 

 

Henri grabbed him from the collar of his shirt, biting over the butt of his cigarette until it tore and he spat it into the bucket, breathing heavily against the older man's face. 

 

“Bull. Shit.” 

 

He watched as Cellier glared at him before he breathed out smoke in his face, but it didn't straddle Henri.  He was used to the scent, and on the contrary, it made his grip tighten hard enough for the material stretch I'm his fist. 

 

“He counted on you. So I'll tell you what,” Papillon then let him go, grabbing his cigarette from his mouth and turning the lightened part into the hem of his shirt, right below his neck. 

 

Cellier stayed still, his lips sewed together as the blond continued to speak, not taking his eyes off him.

 

“You're gonna bring me back those watches,  and you're gonna send Julot $500 in cash every fuckin’ mouth I let you live, you got that?”

 

When Cellier kept his silence Henri pressed the cigarette into his shirt, burning him, as he grabbed his jaw with his other hand. 

 

Cellier bit his lip until he tasted blood in his mouth, and only then agreed to the blond's words, when smelling the stretched of his burnt skin filling the air. 

 

“Yes, Papi.” 

 

Smoothly, Henri then let him go, dropping his cigarette to the ground and spitting near the man's leg before he walked backward and then turned to walk away from him. 

 

It was that simple, to twist someone to do something he wanted them to do. But one thing he couldn't be accused of was harming innocent people, no matter what a glorious reputation of a thief he had in the streets. 

 

Cellier had this coming, this way or another. They may have gotten along well in the past but it was time for them to part ways. Henri couldn’t stand backstabbing sons of bitches that rather save their own skin instead of coming to their friend’s aid. 

 

He left the harbor, wandering the streets for the rest of the day, trying to calm himself the fuck down.

 

So he thought about the painting in his bedroom, and the view there, and how pretty it was. Soon enough his shoulders dropped and he leaned against some building, looking up to the sky, feeling his heartbeat slowing down.

 

_ Louis, Louis, Louis. Who the hell was he? And how did his painting manage to fill him with such inner peace, as if he knew the man?  _

 

Henri chose not to dwell on that. It was better off that way. Though, he was curious to see him deal with his stolen painting, so he decided to pay his gallery a visit tomorrow night.   
  
  


He chuckled to himself, clicking his tongue as he began walking home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one took so long to get out. I'm in a bad period of my life right now, emotionally and mentally, but I really wanted to post this chapter for all of you today. I want to thank those of you who comment below and reblog my work on Tumblr; your feedback means a great deal to me. 
> 
> I already know how I'd like to end this fanfic, so all I gotta do is to write how things go from here. I don't see it ending in 15 chapters, but in 10, though it depends on my detailing and how I'll feel about the plot's pace. Thank you all for checking out my work!
> 
> My Tumblr: https://will-grammer.tumblr.com/
> 
> As always, until next time.  
> -Alex.


	4. Frequency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis is enjoying dinner with Annie and Joseph, all the while Henri stays in his apartment with his desired box of Rolex watches from Cellier. 
> 
> Chapter Warning(s): Mild obsession on Henri's part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been over a month, and I'm sorry for the long wait. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as you did with the last three ones.
> 
> How do you think Henri and Louis will meet? Let me know in the comments below! 
> 
> My Tumblr: https://will-grammer.tumblr.com/

Annie ran a hand through her hair as she prepared the table, placing three glasses down near each plate, then returned with forks and knives.

“It's around 6 already, shouldn't he be on his way by now?” Joseph muttered to himself and fixed the collar of his shirt, sighing.

“He'll be here,” the brunette chuckled and kissed his cheek, his beard there tickling her lips as she brought her delicate hands to Joseph's collar, fixing it herself as his own fingers stopped moving.

Joseph let his wide shoulders drop before he moved his hands down to Annie's waist, rubbing her sides as he felt her fingers now running through his short, curly hair.

“He better be,” Dega smiled down at her, love in his grey eyes before he pressed his lips against Annie's, tasting the green tea she drank earlier.

“Mmh,” he made a small sound to the knock on this door, and pulled away from Annie swiftly, hearing her laugh when he stood behind the closed door.

“You took your time,” the detective said, knowing who it was.

Louis laughed nervously and shoved his hands into his coat's pockets, hiding the paint he couldn't scrub off his fingertips after he was done painting only an hour ago.

“I did. I should have called, I'm sorry, brother,” he apologized

Annie shook her head and walked towards Joseph, unlocking the door and letting his younger brother inside before she locked it behind him, and rubbed his thin shoulder through his heavy, black and purple coat.

The one she got him for Christmas a few years back. It was rather large on his slim body. She couldn't find a smaller size to fit him better, but she was glad to find out that Louis cherished her gift nonetheless.

“Don't mind him, darling. He's just bored,” she tilted her head at her husband before she walked back into the kitchen, and Louis smiled, his stomach turning to how nice she was.

How good, and how marvelous. He was truly happy for his older brother to have found her. And in a way, he was happy for himself, too, for having this woman in his life, and not just his brother's.

One look at his Louis and Joseph knew the man had spent his day working on what he promised to him - the bait, his new painting. The one that would lore the perp back into the deserted building he decided to have his gallery in.

“No glasses today, Lou?” Joseph watched him sit by the kitchen table, now without his coat, dressed in a navy blue sweater and grey jeans, and his black and white Nike shoes.

“They broke,” he swallowed and looked away, his coat resting in his lap, his fingertips still covered by the fabric.

Joseph's eyes hunted him even when he didn't engage and went down on his knee by the oven to help Annie get out the lasagna she made.

“How did you break them?” her voice ended the silence that fell after Louis talked, and he felt his shoulders tensing when the plate with the lasagna was now placed in the middle of the table.

“It's going to sound… weird,” he looked up at the two, and Annie simply smiled and sat across from him.

“Why don't you wash your hands and tell us, then?”

Joseph nodded in agreement, cutting down pieces of the lasagna to each of them before he poured water down their glasses.

The strong scent of tomatoes and spice filled the room and Louis smiled as he stood and hurried into the bathroom down the hall.

He didn't want to keep them waiting.

 

-

 

Henri took another drag of his cigarette, now holding it between his middle and index fingers of his left hand as he rubbed a golden Rolex watch in his right palm.

He hummed to the quiet ticks and noticed his heartbeat had gotten used to the rhythm since Cellier dropped by earlier and gave him the box back.

He put it back in the box between his legs near the small coffee table before his eyes caught a glimpse of a grey watch between the golden ones.

Placing the cancer stick in his mouth, he sucked the butt off and let the smoke out of his lips, not minding the burning feeling in his lungs after years of smoking already.

In fact, he didn't feel the same without it.

Something about the grey color of the branded watch made his stomach turn. He always liked the color, as if it reminded him of something or someone, but no matter how hard he looked into the eyes of the people he had met, he couldn't find whatever he was looking for there.

He doubted he ever would. Or even if he did, why was their eye color such importance to him?

It was dumb. And he wasn't like that, to be distracted because of some damn color on a stupid watch like that.

Still, the blond stood and entered his bedroom in a quick step, placing the watch over his nightstand before he took the cigarette out of his mouth and watch the smoke he breathed out scattering into the thin air.

He sat down, his bright eyes meeting the deep green shade of Louis’ cursive signature over his painting, and he stared at the letters as if they were telling him something.

Charrière clicked his tongue and stood, grabbing a sheet from his closet which he threw over the painting, covering it before he left the room, closing his bedroom door with a thud.

“Fuck you,” he breathed out, kicking the box in spite. “You and your goddamn canvas, you little shit,” he groaned and shoved the cigarette into his ashtray, crushing it, putting it off.

He spent his evening hiding the watches in the walls of his apartment, then sealed them and colored them in with to hide the broken pieces of the once infected walls.

As he cleaned, he kept thinking of Louis, and for some reason, he enjoyed picturing the man with a grey pair of eyes.

Though he didn't know what the rest of his features were, from the time he'd spent staring over his creation against the wall in his bedroom, he could tell he had very delicate hands.

As he consistently washed his hands later, getting rid of the white paint under his nails, he thought about Louis.

It dragged a deep, low growl out of Henri since he knew that at some point he would want to meet the guy.

And that couldn't happen. No matter how much he wanted to see how was he doing after he stole his work, and gaze into his eyes.

And look at his hands. Feel them up, if they were rough like his own or soft and gentle like his mother's from the long tucked away memories of his happy childhood.

 

-

 

“It felt like a dream,” Louis said and brought his hands up across the table, his fingertips colored in yellow, red and white.

Joseph titled his head as he leaned forward in his chair and sipped his water, and Annie nodded her head as she began cutting her piece of lasagna down with her silverware.

“You were never on an Island, it must be,” Joseph out down his glass and gripped his gaze to his brother's fingers.

“From working too hard, it seems. Your brain is telling you that you are in need of a break,” the detective sighed and ate, chewing down the food carefully.

Louis looked down, perplexed, though he knew he wasn't hallucinating. Or daydreaming. He was fully awake! Alert. He knew he wasn't alone when he saw himself seated there, near the ocean.

“You don't get it,” he sighed and played with his fork. “Look, I said it was going to sound weird-”

Annie brought her hand across the table, gently touching the younger brother's wrist, caressing it, watching the anxiety in his grey eyes fade as he breathed out shakily.

“And I said that we were ready to listen,” her voice was somewhat demanding, meant for Joseph to hear, and he did, sighing before he nodded his head slowly.

“Yeah, okay. I'm sorry, Louis. I just know how hard you're working. I'm worried about you. For you. I love you,” the detective leaned closer and brought his own hand to his brother's thin wrist, smiling sadly at him.

“Tell me again, right from the start. I promise I'll listen this time, okay?”

Louis looked at them both, before he eyed his brother, feeling himself relaxing into his seat with their hands on his wrist, as he placed the fork down and nodded his head.

“...Okay.”

They exchanged looks and pulled their hands away a moment later, then watched Louis as he opened his mouth to speak.


	5. At Last We Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri waits for Louis in his gallery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead yet!! This is the longest chapter (3,000K words lol) so far, I hope ya'll enjoy! I've been busy with finals and keeping my mental health intact, sorry it took me so long to finish this chapter, and I'm sorry if Louis and Papi are a bit OOC, I was really trying to find their voices again. Let me know what you think down in the comments, I'd really appreciate it! 
> 
> Chapter warnings: Obsession and stalking on Henri's part and mild breakdown on Louis'.
> 
> 'Your sky  
> The beauty alone is worth it  
> I will risk it all to own it'

“My car's parked near the precinct, so let's grab your painting from your apartment and head there. I'll drive you to your gallery,” Joseph spoke as he cleared the table.

Louis smiled and stood to help him with the glasses, placing them down on the counter as he rolled up the sleeves of his coat and turned on the water stream, grabbing a sponge.

“That would be great, thank you, Joseph.”

He stood next to Louis and took another sponge, humming as he cleaned the plates and silverware, his shoulder nudging his brother's softly.

“I thought you didn't like to walk, Louis?” he grinned to the sound of Annie's soft laugh to her husband's teasing.

“I missed you,” the artist smiled and turned his head to eye his brother, smiling wide, their grey eyes meeting before Louis placed the plates in their cabins above his head.

“Just don't whine about how tired you are as we walk. You're not 8 anymore, I can't carry you on my back like I used to,” Joseph dried the silverware with a soft towel and placed it away.

“And I thought all law enforcers had to be prepared for anything,” Annie shifted in her chair and leaned back with her hands crossed to her chest.

“Especially detectives,” Louis joined her with a smirk on his lips, then dried the glasses with another towel, watching the way his brother's wide shoulders tensed, and his face turned into a scowl.

“I could carry you both on my back if I wanted to.”

“Nobody said you couldn't,” Louis carried on, clicking his tongue as he watched Joseph turn to him, running a wet hand through the short curls that rested over his forehead.

“I just don't want to drop you because I know how damn delicate you are.”

Louis parted his lips, his fingers gripping the outline of his coat, his stomach turning as a weird sensation took its hold on him.

Joseph didn't say anything out of the ordinary, so why did he feel like somebody else had told him those exact same words a long time ago?

It was so strange, this feeling. But… it was also very nice. Louis couldn't understand why.

“Hey, I'm kidding,” Joseph said a moment later, grinning. “I'll carry you to the end of the world if you'll ask me to,” he said truthfully and Louis could only nod his head, still struck by surprise.

_Why do I feel like somebody else told me these words?_

“Sorry, I just…” Louis mumbled as he blinked his eyes and tore his gaze away, staring at the microwave, the darkness comforting his eyes instead of the bright colors around him.

“Another vision?” Annie spoke, standing from her chair, standing next to his brother now.

“But how can something I said to trigger it?” Joseph questioned and took his hand away to dry it with a towel.

“I don't know,” Louis sighed and closed his eyes for a long moment. “It just did. Like, someone already said what you just did to me. A long time ago,” he said, confident in his answer.

“Do you think it was said by the same person from your painting? The one you felt that was standing beside you?” Joseph breathed out, his voice was gentle as he brought his dried palms to each of the artist's tensed shoulders.

“The one I couldn't see? It sounds bizarre when you say it like that,” Louis huffed and opened his eyes, his thin shoulders relaxing as the strong palms of his brother pressing into them.

“There's a belief that says that things like birthmarks on people symbolize how they died in past lives,” Annie smiled and caught the brothers’ attention.

“A birthmark on your stomach could indicate you might have been stabbed or shot,” she carried on, and Louis nodded his head slowly, turning it to look at her.

“That's dark,” Joseph raised his brows at her before she chuckled and nodded her head.

“My point, Louis, is that perhaps that person you couldn't see when you had the vision from your painting was somebody you knew in a past life, and they meant a great deal to you.”

Louis smiled, touched by her explanation, his stomach no longer turning. “That sounds… really beautiful, Annie. Thank you,” he sniffed and rubbed the edge of his nose.

“Thank you, Louis, for telling Joseph and I what's going on with you,” she kissed his cheek, caressing it with her cold palm, making Dega shiver and relax all the more.

Joseph smiled at the scene in front of him, and he turned Annie's jawline with his fingers to kiss her, then again, letting go of Louis who was blushing as her palm remained in his cheek.

“I love you,” the detective sighed, and watched her smile as she ran her free hand through his curly hair, massaging his skull before pulling away.

“I love you, too. Now get going, I think it'll rain tonight,” she chuckled and pinched Louis smooth’ cheek playfully, disappearing into the hallway.

Louis bit his lip as he raised his brows and buried his hands in the pockets of his coat, watching as she came back with Joseph's coat, kissing his nose as he dressed.

“Be safe.”

“We will,” Louis reassured her, and turned to the door, opening it and stepping outside.

  
-

  
“You sure you got it?” Joseph called out from an open window in his car before he responded to a call on his radio.

“Yeah, I'm good,” Louis called out from the truck and closed it with his left palm, keeping the canvas against his chest.

“I'll see you later, then. Keep your phone on, I don't want you disappearing on me with a thief targeting your work,” the detective said, bringing a smile to Louis’ features before he walked down the street, hearing his brother's car drive away with the siren on.

As Louis made his way towards the door, keeping his canvas from touching the pavement, he noticed an older man lurking around.

Dark hair and bright eyes, with a tattoo of some kind of a bird in his neck.

“Hello,” he greeted the man, who turned his head towards him, somewhat disappointed with his appearance.

As if he expected someone else.

“You must be the owner. Excuse me for standing in your way,” the older man chuckled and Louis shook his head at his apology.

He moved and Louis walked up to the stairs and searched through his pocket for the door's key.

“You look like you're waiting for someone. May I ask who?” Louis turned his head to watch him, finding him more and more familiar even though he was certain he had never seen him before.

Cellier's eyes followed the artist's movement and as he listened to his voice he smiled a little.

“An old friend. Though I'm afraid he wouldn't show his face to me,” the older man buried his hands in his pockets as he continued to watch Louis.

“Have we met?” he asked the man, who shook his head as he opened the door.

“I'm afraid not,” Louis smiled sadly as he opened the door, somewhat uncomfortable with the older man's gaze placed on his face, and his work.

He wanted to get inside as soon as possible but his curiosity kept him at the top of the stairs.

“I think I'd remember a man with swallows on his neck.”

Cellier smiled and clicked his tongue, shrugging. “Memory is a funny thing,” he said, and Louis nodded his head at that.

He referred to Dega's painting next. “Why are you drawn with jail uniforms there?” he questioned, and Louis thought if to tell him about what he saw or not.

His fingers gripped the edges of his canvas a little tighter before he spoke, blinking his eyes.

“Ah, well, I was never a prisoner, you see. I simply included myself here since I had a certain vision about it.”

Cellier hummed at that as he kicked a nearby rock with the end of his shoe, whistling for a short second.

“That's impressive, birdie.”

The nickname made Louis raise his brows in surprise. “Pardon?”

“Oh, sorry. It's because you talk a lot.”

Louis let out a laugh at that, his shoulders dropping. “Yes, I'm quite the chatter when it comes to art... Thank you for listening.” he smiled at Cellier who nodded at him, saying nothing further.

“I hope your friend shows up,” Louis told him with a friendly smile and watched as the man nodded his head at him once more before he replied.

“And I hope that your gallery grows bigger, Mr. Dega.”

Louis walked inside and closed the door, feeling motivated by the man's words before he locked the door behind himself.

He was still sure he saw him somewhere. He just couldn't understand where. And maybe, for a change, he didn't have to.

They had a nice conversation. He shouldn't analyze any stranger that seems familiar to him.

He only cared about a certain one, anyway.

The Thief. 

As Louis walked towards an empty part of the wall, stretching his arms upwards to hang his latest creation, he remembered he never told that man his name.

Not that there was anything too weird about him knowing who he was, since he was an artist after all, and his brother was a police detective, but this was New York.

For all Louis knew the guy could be a fan of his work. He tried to believe that and stepped back to see his painting now attached to the wall, secure.

He stretched his neck to the side and eyed the door at the end of the hall, feeling his phone in his pocket when exhaling a deep sigh.

His shoulders suddenly felt heavy, and he found himself rubbing his palms together, now drenched with sweat as he was busy with stretching his aching fingers.

The paint under his fingernails was a mixture of the dark green he used to sign his name with, and the red he used for the stripes on his prison uniform.

He couldn't fool himself into believing that guy knew his name for a reason so naive as such being familiar with his work, or Joseph's position.

And then it hit him.

His gaze, the way he talked to him and remained in his spot by the stairs, not even looking around at near cars to see if his friend was there.

Could he be the thief? What would he gain from stealing from a man such as himself, and why was he visiting the gallery again so soon?

His knee looked fine. Not that Louis noticed much, being too occupied with looking into his dark eyes and noticing his crooked teeth.

“It's not him, it's just not,” he chuckled and tugged at his hair, grunting when pacing around his gallery. The sounds of his footsteps only background noise to his voice as he continued to talk.

“I'm not crazy, I'm…” he sighed and closed his eyes shut. “I'm sane, I have to be. What is this all for if I'm just losing my sanity?”

“Beats me,” a man's voice said, across the hall, and Louis jumped in awe.

It wasn't anyone he knew, which rubbed that part in his brain that wanted to attach a face to the voice spoken to him.

He knew it was real and he wasn't hallucinating, he heard him breathe as if the guy was lurking in the darkness of the gallery since Louis only switched on a certain light bulb to light the section he was in.

Was he holding his breath all along? Did he pick the key earlier, before he showed up? Or did he find another way to come inside?

Did the man outside was his friend and served a distraction to keep him from entering, or were they unrelated?

There had to be some explanation. But Louis didn't know. _He didn't know many things._

Finally bringing himself to turn around in a swift move, his shaky hand holding his phone to light the hallway, he saw no one.

And the sound of his breathing stopped. When did they start?

"I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry," he said again, this time from Louis' side, causing him to turn his head and see him.

And Henri could swear his heart missed a beat when gazing into those grey eyes of his beloved artist. Even when his gaze was full of fear and confusion.

It was nearly euphoric for him to be standing in front of the smaller man.

Watching him from the shadows of the gallery as he listened to his conversation with Cellier outside. For the entire time, he had asked himself if his old friend had been spying on him.

_How else would he know I wanted to see Dega?_

His stomach turned and tightened to the thought of the older man hurting him. What would he gain from it, though? Besides provoking Papillon to face him once more.

"How did you get in here again? were you the one that stole my painting?" Louis' words brought the blond back to reality, grabbing his attention, and he smiled at the questions.

Louis knew the answer to them already. He never felt so sure in his life about anything else. Not even his career.

What did this man want?

Papillon took a step forward, nodding his head as his eyes met the new painting Dega just hung on the wall, his big palm raised to brush his fingers into the canvas.

Before he did, though, he felt Dega's palm slapping his own away, and as if he was struck by lightning, he growled and jumped back.

"Don't ignore me, asshole. I know you did it."

For some reason Louis retreated from calling Joseph and telling him about this, knowing he'd be here in a matter of minutes, yes, but would he be able to keep the blond here, waiting for his arrest?

The answer was no. So Louis didn't bother, letting the option simply float in his head.

Papillon clicked his tongue as he leaned down to look at Dega more, the way he stood as his shaky palm grasped upon his phone, how it lit the darkness around them and gave him a better sight of the little artist.

"I hope you didn't smear your fingertips all over it," Dega huffed. Bolder now, feeling anger taking control of his senses.

"And what if I did?" Henri smiled, sweet and knowing, his blue eyes clear as day when he brought his hand to rest above Dega's shoulder against the wall, under the canvas he just hung.

Louis gritted his teeth. "I-," he was about to say before Henri pressed their chests together.

"I needed to see you," he interrupted him. "Last time I was here, I just came here to hide from the cops," he breathed, and Louis couldn't look away from him.

He didn't feel trapped as he should have been. But he didn't feel safe either. The heat of his body felt familiar. His scent, the way he carried himself.

Almost nostalgic.

"And you stole my painting because you felt like it?" Dega scuffed, pushing the blond off him as hard as he could, watching him stumble back with a sigh.

"Yes!" he yelled, "I'm a thief, I take whatever I fucking want, so I took your painting. I liked it," he groaned and went through his pocket for his pack of cigarettes.

"Are you serious? You can't smoke in here, asshole," Louis raised his voice at him when watching Henri light up his cancer stick, before taking a short blow.

"You gonna call your cop brother on me, baby? I just told you what you wanted to hear," Papillon grinned, his heart beating so fast he felt like he could die.

Dega was so pretty. So bold and so fucking talented, why the fuck wasn't his gallery filled by people looking forward to his next work?

Why wasn't he famous? Had he been keeping to himself all this time? Papi couldn't help but wonder.

"Don't call me that," Louis stepped forward, fists clenched as if he believed he could successfully hit the man in front of him.

Henri raised his hands in surrender, "Don't shoot," he chuckled, the smoke from his mouth making Louis feel ill.

"If you still have my painting, I want it back. Today," he demanded, and Henri blinked, tearing their gaze for a moment, thinking about it.

"Under one condition," he said, feeling Dega's eyes piercing into his skull even without looking directly at him.

It felt so good to have his attention.

"I won't tell my brother you were here," Louis shoved his phone into his pocket and folded his arms against his chest.

Charrière grinned, bringing his finger to scratch his nose. "That's not what I want."

Louis raised a brow. Why wouldn't he go the security of knowing the cops wouldn't be on his tail as soon as he'd return what he stole?

"Tell me about that painting. The new one," he took his cigarette out of his mouth and watched it go off when smashing it in his palm.

Louis rolled his eyes at his little act, and Papi sat down, making himself comfortable in his spot, his long legs stretched to his sides.

"It's a vision I saw," Louis sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying not to tug on it.

"When I thought about what I could draw to lore you back into my gallery. My brother said you might come again so I wanted to give you something to look at."

"How romantic," Henri beamed, as his eyes scanned the canvas and then Dega's expression. He looked angry, and it made Papillon feel bad for some reason.

He leaned forward, stretching his back.

"Carry on, then. Why are you dressed like an inmate there?"

Louis gave up, knowing he had to tell the man what he wanted to hear, not trying to put sense in it anymore when sliding to sit down in front of the blond, defeated.

"You're a child," he muttered, rubbing his eyes, tired of the man already. 

"And you're no fun. Tell me, come on," Papi shot him a wide grin, leaning his jaw into the fist of his hand, the burn from his cigarette not bothering him when having Dega in front of him like that.

He wanted to keep him here as long as he could. Ask him things, all sorts of things.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You might have noticed two relatively new characters here, named Josphe and Annie Dega. To those of you who haven't read the book 'Papillon' written by Henri himself, Joseph is Louis' older brother who supported Henri with the help of his wife during one of his attempted escapes! I've mentioned Joseph in my one shot of 'Let Me See', and decided to include him and Annie here too, for my plot. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I've never written a complete fic on my own, this is very new for me but I am confident that I will not disappoint either of us when writing about these to men in a different setting than I've gotten used to. 
> 
> Please kudos and comment your thoughts down below, I'm very excited about this myself, feedback would be very nice! 
> 
> reeacat's Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard  
> My Tumblr: https://will-grammer.tumblr.com/


End file.
